Unicorns and Earrings
by Borath Pachelbel
Summary: Malik's birthday is coming, and he's demanding an extra-special something from Bakura.


Authors' Notes: Hi, all! Pachelbel here, speaking for Borath and myself. We wrote this while we spent a week together way back in July. Borath wrote most of this chapter, and I shall be writing most of the next. It's pretty much all smut, so if that offends you...well, at least it's R-rated smut, not NC-17. You could, like, totally see worse on TV. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Borath and Pachelbel (tm) do not own Yu-Gi-Oh (tm), nor any of the characters mentioned herein. Except maybe the magician.

**_Unicorns and Earrings_**__

A unicorn. That's what he wanted.

And it was his birthday...why shouldn't he want one? Hell, he deserved one. Little girls wanted ponies; Malik wanted a unicorn. It made sense. To him.

They had the grace and beauty that fit his excellent person and they had a great bloody horn on their head for gauging things. Marvelous creatures....

Bakura didn't seem to think so though. In fact, from the way his psychotic lover was staring at him now, he seemed to think they were outright stupid.

But then again, Bakura didn't like pretty things much, unless he could tie it down to his bed. Maybe that was the problem.

Malik stared across the table for another minute of silence and finally broke down into a glare. "Why not?"

His glare matching Malik's and just about beating it, Bakura rose to his feet as if to physically state that he was not having this conversation. "Because they're not real you stupid pillock!" Rounding the table they had been sat at, he went to leave but found himself stopping short when a tanned hand snapped out and grabbed the back of his trousers. "Malik, if you don't let go now and I'll hurt you in a way that you won't enjoy."

Pouting, Malik stared up at Bakura through his bangs but didn't release his grasp. The glare had slipped away completely, his large bright eyes now looking disturbingly innocent, although the customary insanity was still in place. Of course. "But I want a unicorn. It's my birthday."

Malik knew full well that Bakura couldn't stand pouting. But Malik was good at it, and so sometimes it helped him weasel things out of his lover. He'd never forget the time he'd pouted until Bakura agreed to cover his bed with black rose petals.

Malik licked his lower lip and continued to stare up at Bakura pleadingly. "The Dark Magician isn't real, either, but you've seen him, haven't you? What about Man Eater Bug? Don't tell me you can't get me a unicorn when I know that you can."

Bakura shifted on his feet marginally, swallowing whilst keeping his gaze unrelenting. Malik had a fair point there, but there was simply no unicorn Duel Monster. Gaia's horse was about the closest thing, and that beast was purple. No, this unicorn fetish that had suddenly come out of the blue could not be indulged. But this was Malik. And Malik did... things to get his way. "How about I get you something else? The Pharaoh's head on a platter?"

Blinking slowly and his gaze filtering up to the ceiling thoughtfully, Malik didn't seem to have heard that suggestion. His gaze became serious again, and Bakura almost sighed as he was fixed with what Malik probably constituted as an earnest stare. "I'd like some owl teeth if I can't have a unicorn. You can get those, right?"

Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose hard, the exasperated thief sought a different compromise. "Look, I can get you a horse and nail a horn to its head. That can be your bloody unicorn."

The pout returned full-force. Bakura was distantly amazed at how versatile... Bad thoughts, particularly whilst waging this war. He couldn't afford to lose sight when Malik was being this determined. Indeed, the young man's words were still very serious if a little whiny. "But it's just a horse. It won't be magic and special."

Taking a few carefully measured breaths, Bakura painfully forced out his words through clenched teeth, barely moving his lips. "I'll put glitter on it."

"Since when is glitter magic?" Malik had seen Peter Pan. It was all false; he'd dumped glitter on Ryou once. Nothing happened, except some sparkly bits getting stuck in the poor boy's eyes. "I shouldn't even have to ask for this. You should know by now that I like unicorns." This was bad. Malik's mood was getting dark as he continued down this train of thought. "You should have been searching for a unicorn for me months ago, if you think about it. You can tell the future, right? You're magic, right? And this isn't the first time I've told you I want a unicorn. With my birthday coming, why didn't you at least take note?

"Of course I took notice!" Wrenching out of Malik's hand, Bakura knotted his own in blond hair and forced the sitting teen's head back, staring down into non-plussed eyes fiercely. "I made plans for today and you're lucky to get those. But a unicorn is impossible to get." He tightened his fist against his lover's scalp when Malik opened his mouth to speak. "And owls don't have teeth. Now, come on or we're going to be late."

"They do so have teeth," Malik grumbled, following after Bakura. "They use them to chew out of their eggshells." Having made his point, he allowed himself to be excited about the plans Bakura had made. "Where are we going?"

Bakura didn't answer at first, and when Malik persisted in needling him, he only answered, "It's a surprise."

Malik brightened instantly. He didn't gush about it, but Bakura could tell he would have if they hadn't been in public where other people would hear him ramble about how happy he was. As it was, Malik clung close to Bakura's side and examined each building they approached with wide-eyed delight.

Bakura finally turned at a side street and headed up concrete stairs into a huge marble building. He pulled two tickets from his shirt pocket-Malik was always pestering his pants pockets and would have found them there otherwise-and the usher led them to their seats on the front row.

The stage was set between two marble pillars and black curtains. There was fake smoke pouring over the floor, and an assortment of gadgets and boxes were set around seemingly at random. After the lights dimmed, a man in black clothes and a red-lined cape walked to the center of the stage and announced that he was Malvolio the Marvelous Magician.

He pulled rabbits from an empty hat, slid scarves out of an audience member's throat, chewed glass, cut an assistant in half, and made fire appear out of nowhere. His final act included wearing a straightjacket, thick chains, a ball and chain, and a helmet. After all of this was put on, he was locked in a shark tank. Two minutes later Malvolio swam his way to freedom, leaving behind all of his restraints. Sopping wet, he bid everyone good night and the curtain fell.

The crowd was wild afterwards, very impressed; even Bakura didn't look entirely smug or superior, which was saying a lot.

Malik, however, only snorted. "I could have done that." When Bakura looked incredulously skeptical, he smirked coyly and added, "With the power of my Rod...I could do anything."

"If you had a Rod...." Bakura returned, snickering at Malik's indignant expression.

"Fine, we'll call the Pharaoh and borrow some manacles. I'll show you. Hell, I'll beat Malvolio's time while I'm at it!"

True to form, the second they got back to Bakura's house--Ryou thankfully missing as he usually was when they were there--Malik dived for the phone and called the Game Shop. Deciding that a fair amount of tact was going to be required to pry some manacles from Yami and that such a trait wasn't something that Malik actively nurtured, Bakura took the phone from him before it was picked up on the other end.

"Pharaoh,"he snapped, trying very hard to ignore Malik's excitedly bouncing state in front of him. He continued on when he heard Yami's groan of tired recognition. "I want to borrow some manacles."

"What kind?" There was silence for a moment, mostly due to the speed at which the inquiry had come. Yami seemed to have not realized he'd spoken so fast and Bakura was trying very hard to force certain mental images out of his head. He watched Malik for a few seconds and felt better.

Yami seemed to have some sort of...expertise in this and he didn't really know what Malik was after, so he braced himself for the inevitable question. "What have you got?"

There was silence on the other end as Yami seemed to weigh up how much to say. Bakura chewed on his tongue and ran a hand roughly through his hair. Finally, Yami spoke with great tact and even greater hesitance. "That depends. What do you... Never mind. Safety or not?"

Bakura regarded Malik who was now doing some sort of odd dance in front of him thoughtfully. His expression turned as droll as his tone of voice. "Something hard to get out of. Preferably with short chains."

Yami made a thoughtful noise on the other end. "Alright. Come by and pick them up whenever. I don't particularly want them back so just replace them when you're...done. And Bakura?"

"Pharaoh?"

"This conversation never happened."

Malik hardly gave Bakura time to hang up the phone. He nearly ran down the block to Yami's house (his motorcycle was getting tuned up at the time, something Bakura was rather grateful for), and went in without knocking.

He seemed to know where Yugi's, and therefore Yami's, room was, for he raced up the stairs and down the hall, up some more stairs, and to the left without any hesitation at all. Bakura made a mental note to ask how Malik had learned the whereabouts of Yami's bedroom later as it could prove useful at some point.

Yami was sitting on the floor. At least six shoeboxes were spread around the room, most overturned, all of them empty. Manacles, shackles, chains, buckles, leather straps, and a whip or two were spiraled out around the Pharaoh. He was examining each one very carefully, putting those he seemed to deem suitable in a pile next to him. The rest he tossed back over his shoulder.

"Well?" Malik asked. "Which ones do we get?"

Yami looked up at him thoughtfully, then handed up two pairs. "Choose."

Malik studied both for a few minutes before taking the pair that had only three chain links. "Thanks." He grabbed up Bakura's hand and slapped one wristlet on him, then fastened the other to his own arm. He grinned broadly at his lover, then faltered. "I forgot my cape. Come on, let's go home and get it, then I'll show you the power of my...Rod."

Yami grimaced and motioned them away. "Go, go. And don't forget, I don't want details."

"Sure. So long, Pharaoh." With that, Malik spun on his heel and tried to pull Bakura with him. Bakura hesitated long enough to bring Malik up short, then followed. It was Malik's birthday, after all. He could stand to let the teen lead him around a bit, this once.

Once Malik's old Ghouls cloak was in place (except the sleeves which he couldn't put on while he was chained to Bakura), he smiled in a very superior manner and said, "Ready to witness a miracle, love?"

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Just get on with it. My hand's getting cramped."

Ignoring Bakura's lack of enthusiasm, Malik ran his fingers over the chain and then the manacles themselves. "Manacles of the Pharaoh, I command you...open!"

Nothing happened. Bakura figured Malik was just getting warmed up, so he said nothing. Malik blinked in surprise, frowned, and tugged this way and that on the restraints. "Open. Open... Open!"

"That's...that's your trick?"

"Yeah. Open!" Malik was still trying to yank his wrist away.

"Stop it! ...Have you ever tried this before?"

Malik looked affronted. "Who the hell would be able to chain me up?"

"Only an utter moron by the looks of it," Bakura grumbled under his breath, earning his arm a sharp yank. "Come on. This was vaguely amusing for a few minutes but now it's just irritating. Ditch the fancy crap and just get this thing off me."

"I can't." Malik tugged half-heartedly at the manacles as if to emphasize his point. Bakura sighed and ran his free hand over the metal binding, feeling for a safety latch or a loose link. He found neither, meaning that Yami had given them the heavy duty manacles, although he did find a keyhole. They just didn't have the key, but he'd be damned if he walked back to the Pharaoh and requested freedom.

"I think we're going to need a hacksaw."

"A hacksaw?" Malik repeated hollowly. As it sank in, he seemed to regain his energy. "No! Not a hacksaw! Not in your hands! We'll just go ask Yami for the key."

Seeing this was going to head into an argument, Bakura went to scoop Malik up and nearly succeeded, except that Malik's arm didn't bend that way and he ended up with a very pissed off Egyptian on his hands. Opening his mouth to flex his bruising jaw, he dumped Malik back onto his feet and hissed as his wrist twisted violently at the motion.

The pain was still thick in his voice, laced in with determination and a truckload of pride. "We ask the Pharaoh for nothing. Now come on; we're going to a locksmith."

Twenty minutes later, Bakura reflected on these very words and came to the conclusion that saying one thing to Malik was invariably easier than actually doing it. The slighter Egyptian had put up an admirable fight across Domino, the thief opting to stick to the back-alleys and lesser-used tracks so as to avoid embarrassment. Digging his boots into the ground, wrenching at their connecting bindings and threatening him with every method of death known and forgotten by man, Malik was making it quite clear that he didn't want to go to a locksmith. Within half a mile of their destination in the shadowy recess between two towering buildings, his actions were becoming more violent.

"Damnit! I can get out of these myself if you'll just let me!" Malik yelled in exasperated desperation, yanking the arm that was affixed to Bakura's to the side and pushing them both bodily into the filthy wall. Bakura grunted as his body slammed into the brickwork but he said nothing. Protesting hadn't gotten him anywhere so far.

"I will not have some greasy commoner prying at my hands when I can do it myself," the blond continued, glancing about himself as he spoke for something to help him, something to render Bakura unconscious or simply incapacitated. There was nothing of aid though; only two large bins, several high stacks of old and weathered newspapers and the metal fence running parallel to the building on one side.

Not pleased with having his arm pulled as it was, Bakura snapped his hand back and twisted it behind his back, forcing Malik into his chest and trapping him there with their hands connected high behind his back. Leaning his head back and staring down his nose through both their bangs, he glared heatedly. "We are going, and you are not going to stop me. No amount of bitching, hissing and struggling is going to distract me."

Malik's brow lifted minutely as a brainwave stimulated by those words hammered into his skull. Struggling wasn't working, that much was sure, but perhaps he could make Bakura forget about this little mission of his in a more subtle way. A new approach could throw the thief, and he'd get a personal kick out of it too. His plan solidifying, Malik jutted his head forward and closed the short distance between them, locking his mouth onto Bakura's in a chaste kiss.

Bakura for his part was too surprised to really respond to that, but as his lover's lips worked against his and his tongue tried to pry its way inside, he realized what was going on. Malik sought to manipulate him through sex to the extent where he'd give up on going to the locksmith. He was attempting to control him. He thought he was being smart about it. Opening his mouth slightly in a teasing invitation, Bakura decided that that would simply not do.

Malik's shoulders were against the filthy wall already, and Bakura stepped forward and trapped slender hips between his own and the brickwork. The hand behind his back jerked down in an attempt to free itself, but Bakura held it in place despite his being in the decidedly more uncomfortable position. The kiss had not broken yet and the thief tipped and forced his head to make it rougher, their teeth clicking briefly and breath coming harshly through their noses. With their hips flush it was easy to tell that he was having the desired effect. He'd get to Malik before he got to him.

His left hand was free and he forced it behind Malik and against the wall, wrapping it under the teen's right thigh and hoisting it up to his hip. Naturally the Egyptian lifted his body with the movement, using his own free hand as a brace about Bakura's neck to lift his left leg, hooking both behind the small of his lover's back and resting his shoulders against the wall. Bakura hissed into his mouth at the feeling of his arm being wrenched in its socket and Malik swallowed the sound greedily, shifting his body purposefully and feeling the thief's hip bones grind into his flesh beneath him.

Now shoved into the wall even harder, Malik broke off the violent kiss and tipped back his head as Bakura rested his own against his throat, the marginally taller spirit grinding into his pelvis absently, engrossed in the feeling. He wasn't entirely happy that Bakura had turned dominant here with it having been his plan, but the end result certainly looked to be the same. The thief was nothing if not distracted now.

Relying on Malik leaning against the wall and keeping his legs about his waist to remain in place, Bakura shifted the hand that had been supporting the Egyptian's weight to the blond's belt, fumbling awkwardly with the buckle. Finally freeing the leather band, he snapped it sharply to the side and whipped it out through the material hoops about his waist, sending it flying off to the side. Working through the three studded buttons next, he finally managed to loosen the khakis enough to get his hand inside.

Not entirely surprised that Malik had gone commando, Bakura used the palm of his hand to exert an unrelenting and maddening pressure, manipulating his fingers as much as he could given the difficult angle and proximity. The effect was instantaneous as the pinned teen barely stifled a groan and instinctively tried to arch. It was a maddening movement when Bakura held his ground, meaning that Malik simply ground against him insufferably.

Lifting his head from the hollow of Malik's neck, Bakura opened his eyes and blearily took in their surroundings. An alley. He hadn't really noticed. They'd never done it in an alley before. This might turn out to be a good day after all. Spotting the metal fencing opposite them, Bakura pulled the arm that he'd twisted up behind his back to the side, forcing Malik closer to his chest and trapping his hand in his trousers. Not that either of them minded. Thankful that this alley was one of the most barren in Domino and that the chances of them being discovered were slim-to-none, he lent back to take Malik's weight off of the wall before twisting and taking them back to the fence.

Malik's free hand wove up above his head and tangled in the wire grid, the fence bulging beneath his weight and the force of Bakura pushing them both forwards. He tightened his grip with his legs about the slight waist and chewed down a whimper as the thief removed his hand from his trousers, firm almost desperate touches running fervently along his thigh. Then his hold about Bakura's neck increased as the thief lowered him to the ground, shoving down his trousers and then using his boot to stand in the material as Malik worked his boots out of them.

As they were both standing for the moment, Malik took the opportunity to one-handedly undo the button and zip on Bakura's jeans. Loosening the material as opposed to tugging them off as Bakura seemed pretty decided on how this would go, the Egyptian found himself quirking a brow at his choice in boxers. "Plaid?"

Bakura didn't answer immediately, hefting Malik back up against the fence and nuzzling into his throat with a ragged breath. "Laundry day," he eventually answered in a clipped tone, his face pulling into a grimace as he lifted his lover slightly. Malik brought his free hand down from the fence and clasped it about Bakura's neck, holding himself in place as his useless arm trembled against Bakura's own.

The thief didn't bother preparing him. They rarely did now. They had done this so many times that their bodies had naturally loosened, and there was also the plus of riding off a wave of pain into a world of pleasure, the transition made smooth with clawing fingers and brief bites. Bakura adjusted himself minutely and then held still as Malik loosened the death grip about his neck, allowing gravity to do the rest.

Settled, Bakura replaced his hand at Malik's naked hip, his eyes tightly closed and his breathing viciously controlled through clenched teeth. The blond was panting openly, his eyes open and glazed as he reveled in the searing pain that felt so much like tearing when it was in fact only a severe stretch. Bakura's head was still bowed, and Malik moved his hand through white hair before taking a handful of it and pulling down hard, forcing he thief's face up. He had barely succeeded when the other seemed to decide to find out just how much the fence they were against could take.

The first few thrusts didn't bring much pleasure to Malik; it was simply movement whilst he adjusted and Bakura found a rhythm. Twisting his body he found an angle with more potential and seconds later found himself crying out at the reward of the movement as Bakura finally began to strike deeper. Releasing the clump of hair, his hand returned to the wire grid and he strained his arm trying to hold himself in the same position. Bakura's head dropped again, a sharp jaw against his collarbone and he knew that soon there would be teeth as well.

Minutes later, there was, as well as a decisive increase in temp and force and the fence trembled constantly behind Malik under the assault. The Egyptian vocalized his now all-encompassing pleasure openly, the sounds apparently driving on Bakura even more. The thief had always been silent where Malik was a screamer though, the only sounds of his gratification deep groans and harsh breaths coming from deep in his throat and ending in a strangled sort of sound at the end.

Seeing white and not bothering to try and hold off the feeling, Malik welcomed the final shuddering blast of pleasure and the small echoes that followed, each bringing about an involuntary and resounding shudder as he became lost in the euphoria of sensation. He was unaware that Bakura was still pounding into him, seeking his own release, for a good minute as his mind returned to his skull.

The slender hand on his hip tightened spasmodically and with a wicked if somewhat giddy grin, Malik clenched every appropriate muscle that he had conscious control of. Bakura cried out briefly, the loudest and most revealing sound he'd made in months, and Malik distantly noted that it sounded almost desperately saddened. He didn't have time to ponder this though as the already aggressive thrusts reached whole new levels and his physical comfort was utterly disregarded as his lover wrenched through the final barrier.

Metal links cut into his back and left thin and smarting scratches as Bakura's legs gave out, bringing them both to the ground. Bakura was on his knees with Malik tipped in his lap, his head utterly buried now and the Egyptian found himself trailing feather-light touches up and down his back as if to sooth him as he recollected himself. It hadn't taken long for him to realize that when Bakura was the dominant one like this he always experienced sex more intensely. It was something that he'd have to pester a reason for at a later date.

Bakura shifted finally and took off his jacket as much as he could, having to leave it hanging over his and Malik's wrists. The stomach of his shirt was obviously "messy" now and he didn't particularly want to walk into the locksmith's wearing it. He shredded it down the front and across the sleeve of the arm that was manacled to Malik; once it was off, he used it to clean Malik up and then tossed it into the dumpster. Finally, he pulled his jacket back up, not bothering to do up the zipper on it. His pants _did_ get zipped up, and once he and Malik stood up he even helped Malik with the loose khaki pants.

Now dressed, he leaned forward and lightly kissed Malik's lips. He wasn't willing to take the chance that Malik would still want to fight over the locksmith, after all; best to keep the Egyptian in a "floating" state. "Let's go." Malik smiled a little blearily and nodded.

The locksmith stared a good long time at them before he even ventured a word. Bakura and Malik even threatened him, but all the imbecile would do was smirk. "How'd you get all chained up together, anyway? And with no keys?"

"It's my birthday," Malik answered flatly. "So get us out of these things, plebe."

The locksmith's expression cracked at that, and he responded to Malik by pointing to a sign which stated, quite boldly, 'We Reserve the Right to Refuse Service to Anyone for Any Reason.' "I'm using my right now. Get out."

The two manacled, rabid lovers _did_ leave, but not before they launched themselves over the counter and tied the locksmith up just out of reach of the keys to his own chains. After that it was a long, dreary walk back to Bakura's house.

"What do we do now?" Malik asked. "Don't get me wrong...you seem to be pretty creative with these things on, but I don't want to be chained to you forever."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "This was your _brilliant_ idea, you moron. I didn't want to be chained to you at _all."_

The front door opened, interrupting their exchange. Ryou tossed his bag in the general direction of the closet, kicked off his boots, and headed to the kitchen. Partway there he paused, spun back around, and stared at the manacles. Wordlessly, he walked back out the front door and everything was quiet for a few minutes.

"Ryou's home," Malik stated absently. Bakura didn't bother to answer.

When Ryou came back in, he was wearing a welders helmet and hefting a chainsaw. Malik stared, realized what was happening, and tried to run. Bakura wrestled him to the ground and held him as still as possible. A few sparks, a long screamed curse, and two 'accidental' kicks to Bakura's stomach later, the manacles were shattered.

Ryou pulled his helmet off and stared levelly at his yami. "That is the _last_ time, do you hear me?"

Malik watched Ryou disappear out the front door again, glanced at Bakura curiously, and discovered that topic was apparently closed up in a vault. He studied the broken manacles in apparent deep thought before saying, "It's okay if you don't get me a unicorn."

Bakura could have cried with agitation. Or relief. "Well, great, I'll just cancel the order then."

Malik frowned at him to let him know his sarcasm wasn't appreciated. "I want a piercing."

This was welcome news. "Where?"

"Not on _me..._on _you._ I want you to get a piercing for me. That's ten times...no, that's a hundred times better than a unicorn, and about five times better than owls' teeth."

"Owls don't..." Bakura trailed off, tearing at his hair in exasperation. "A _piercing?"_

Malik smiled up at him imploringly. "No one's ever done that for me before. Only people who hurt for me love me...and so, I want you to get a piercing in a place no one but me will ever see it."

There was a pause to the air as Bakura slowly went whiter than his hair. "No." He was so horror-struck his voice went hoarse.

The blond looked wounded. "What? But...but I _love you."_

"No you don't!"

"...I kind of do." Malik glared again. "And, it's _still_ my birthday! I don't have to love you, I can get away with just psychotic obsession. You, however...you have to love me for at _least_ one day, and that day is _today!"_

"All right! Fine! Will you shut up about owls teeth and unicorns and _love_ if I do it?!"

A very pleased smile lit Malik's face as he nodded. Bakura stalked out, but the black cloud of obscenities he was creating would linger for years to come.

Malik picked up the broken manacles and frowned. "Poor Bakura...Yami's going to be so mad at him when he sees these."


End file.
